Too Late, Mr. Husband, She's Hope

Eliana Vance POV:

I shoved the heavy mahogany door hard. It swung open violently, the wood slamming against the wall damper with a loud, hollow *thud*.

It was the first time in five years I hadn't tiptoed around this house. I was done maintaining the quiet sanctuary he demanded.

The laughter inside the study died instantly. Dustin shot up from his ergonomic chair so fast it rolled backward and hit the bookshelf. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

His thumb frantically mashed the screen of his phone, cutting the call dead. In the exact same fluid motion, his left hand swept across the desk, knocking the bottle of pink nail polish straight into the open top drawer. He slammed it shut with his hip.

I stood in the doorway, my arms hanging loosely at my sides, watching his pathetic, panicked routine. The corner of my mouth twitched upward into a cold, mocking smirk.

Dustin cleared his throat loudly, puffing out his chest to regain his usual authoritative posture. "Why didn't you knock before coming in? I'm in the middle of a highly confidential cross-border conference call."

I didn't call out his pathetic lie. Instead, I took two slow, deliberate steps into the room. I kept my eyes locked dead onto his.

"A client?" My voice was flat, devoid of a single ounce of emotion. "What kind of client rushes you to deliver a shark-bone bracelet?"

Dustin's pupils dilated. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ashen gray. But the arrogance he had built up over years of corporate boardroom battles kicked in. He forced his jaw to unclench.

"You misheard," he stammered slightly, his eyes darting to the side. "That's... that's a gift for our lead investor's daughter. I was just telling my assistant to mail it out."

I didn't argue. I just slowly lowered my gaze, letting my eyes drop directly to his left wrist. The cuff of his shirt was pulled back, exposing the Patek Philippe watch. The tiny scratch on the bezel caught the monitor's blue light.

"Dustin," I said, my voice dropping so low it was almost a whisper. "Do you know what day it is today?"

He blinked. His brow furrowed as his brain desperately scrambled through his mental calendar, trying to find the trap I had just laid.

Two agonizing seconds passed. Then, his face lit up with a disgustingly fake look of sudden realization. He rushed around the desk and closed the distance between us.

"Baby, I am so sorry," he said, his voice dripping with manufactured guilt. "With the Series C funding coming up, the board has been breathing down my neck. My head is a mess. I almost forgot it's your birthday."

He reached out both arms, stepping in to pull me into a hug.

I shifted my weight slightly to the right. It was a microscopic movement, but it was enough. His arms caught nothing but empty air.

Dustin's hands hung awkwardly in the space between us. A flash of irritation crossed his eyes before he quickly pulled his hand back and rubbed the back of his neck, trying to mask his embarrassment.

"Tell you what," he offered quickly, tossing out a hollow bribe. "To make it up to you, I'll book us a trip to Hawaii this weekend. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"

I looked at his face. The face I had kissed a thousand times. Suddenly, every feature on it looked foreign, greasy, and utterly repulsive. My stomach churned with physical disgust.

"No need," I said, taking a full step backward to widen the physical gap between us. "You look incredibly busy."

Dustin looked like he had just been handed a get-out-of-jail-free card. He immediately jumped on the excuse. "Yeah, actually, the main server just threw a critical error code. The guys need me down at the tech park immediately to authorize the reboot."

He spun around and power-walked to the coat rack in the corner. He grabbed his dark grey suit jacket and slung it over his arm.

As he walked past the desk, his hand brushed over the surface. In a move he thought was incredibly slick, his fingers hooked the shark-bone bracelet and slid it seamlessly into his jacket pocket.

I watched the entire sleight of hand. The last shred of warmth in my chest froze over, turning into solid ice.

He stopped at the door. He leaned in and pressed his lips against the air right next to my cheek. He didn't even make contact. A wave of cheap, musky cologne washed over my face, making me want to gag.

"I'll make it up to you when I get back, be good," he threw the empty promise over his shoulder as he hurried down the stairs.

I stood perfectly still, listening to his heavy footsteps fade. A moment later, the mechanical hum of the garage door vibrating through the floorboards signaled his exit.

I turned and walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling window at the back of the study.

The glass offered a perfect, unobstructed view of the driveway and the main intersection leading out of our gated community.

A minute later, the sleek black Maybach rolled out of the garage. The engine let out a low, aggressive growl as it hit the asphalt.

I kept my face completely blank as I watched the red taillights flare up at the stop sign.

If he were going to the tech park, he would have to turn right.

Without a second of hesitation, the Maybach's left blinker flashed, and the car accelerated smoothly down the left fork. The road that led straight into the heart of the downtown luxury apartment district.

He didn't even respect me enough to commit to the lie.

"Goodbye, Dustin."